Seven-year itch

After seven years of loving Ethan, he refused to pay my ransom when I was kidnapped. His secretary suggested it was a good opportunity to "teach me a lesson."

I endured hell. I finally learned to stay away from Ethan, but now he's begging me for another chance.

The day I walked barefoot into the city, I made the news. The Harper family's adopted daughter, kidnapped for months, escaped in tattered clothes, filthy and reeking, her bare feet scarred and bleeding. I looked like a stray dog. The media’s flashbulbs exploded, capturing every agonizing detail, but my heart was a stagnant pool, incapable of ripple or reaction.

The old Ashley was dead. The vibrant, naive, spoiled Ashley was gone, destroyed by my captors and by Ethan.

A group of black-suited security guards carved a path through the throng. The leader, Eric, I recognized. During my seven-year pursuit of Ethan, he was the one who’d "escorted" me from Ethan’s office and apartment. Escorting was a euphemism for dragging. I clung, Ethan recoiled, and Eric did the dirty work.

"Miss Harper, Mr. Harper is waiting in the car. Please come with me." Eric’s eyes flickered with surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected me to look like this.

I nodded, each step leaving a bloody footprint. The pain was numb. This short walk was nothing compared to my escape.

Eric followed, murmuring, "Miss Harper..."

I didn’t reply. Pity? He should be relieved. This ordeal taught me my lesson. I wouldn’t bother Ethan anymore, wouldn’t complicate his life.

In the car, Ethan sat with his eyes closed, his dark hair perfectly styled, his features sculpted and flawless. I knew, in my absence, he must have experienced unprecedented peace and quiet. He looked better than ever.

His eyes opened. He barely recognized me. "Ashley?"

I nodded obediently. Yes, I’d learned my lesson. I’d acted like a true Harper, entitled and oblivious to my adopted status. Now I knew my life was in their hands, worthless if Ethan chose not to pay.

He frowned. "What have you done to yourself?"

What have I done? What did he see? A crazy woman? A beggar? I’d run for miles, days and nights blurring, dodging not just kidnappers but wild animals. I drank rainwater, scavenged from roadside trash. Anyone would be broken by this.

He was embarrassed. I was a stain on the Harper image, a liability to the family business.

"I’m sorry." Sorry for being an eyesore.

Ethan paused, then smirked. "She was right. You did learn your lesson."

I didn't understand. As the car started, he reached for me. I flinched back, shrinking into the corner. He stopped, his voice laced with disgust. "Ashley, you stink."

The confined space trapped the stench—blood, sweat, dirt, and the rot of days spent near garbage.

I scrambled away from the leather seat, lost my balance, and landed on my knees.

"I’m sorry, I won’t dirty the seat! I’ll just…" I’ll just kneel here.

Pain shot through my knees, reopening the tiny puncture wounds from the kidnappers’ needles. They were frust...